Eclipse of the Black Moon

by Okty Budiati

For some reason, I read the measurement boundary at displacement for an unknown space. My death is a tragedy that is starting to create a way of life that will follow without an identity of its own. My own, most miserably, contributing to hopelessness in waiting. In my sorrowful of love, I am misinterpreted as anger. The silence has many reasons for my trust you never had. How to communicate at its best? I am speechless in any language to express my love for you by now.

I am a fair word without a heavenly voice. With malicious pleasure, the memory of hell Fortune, I might say, is unpredictable. So much reliance on passion, self-broken The wind blows, which keeps the heart warm. A romantically dark, secretly melancholy flower To follow the crack of evening with quiet day-steps My soul's affairs are unfulfilled feelings. All these blurry reflections of unknown emotions sparkle. Immortality of tomorrow's fate... Tears slipped before all fears clouded over wasted grief.

A collapsed imagination, essentially plundering the heart of a soul. I am no longer a unified individual taking on an understandable situation. A fantasy within that is logically comparable to every stage of life, unnoticed tears. What is survival in the meantime, when life is the primal fall of a human? In all forms of communication, the negation of love goes too far, and it's fatally. To this inadequately stated discussion, bleakness said, “Stop all of the nonsense. I've become passive.” For a hungry soul, no more sun will shine.

Where were they laid as the natural limits, essentially? Let me learn a little more about the verification of your language. I have no right to speak because there is no order outside of my humanity. This process results in the dynamics of susceptible instability. You've decided to avoid the promises you've made. I'm insulting my life as an error curse.

When you create the belief that I am a broken mirror now because I have a second chance at a new beginning in error, a circle of mirrors will never be smooth. There's nothing to read here. I'm just a piece of debris. I will never be repaired but will take the pieces as my path before the end of my breathing journey. I will never have the courage to argue with a statement as I sit here in the solitude of the city-space and wonder how complex it is to love you individually. You made my image as it is and I accept it exhaustively.

I will never have any power to liberate myself anymore.

Since all our intimacy shakes your trust, see my heart from afar where I am alive with the poetry of sadness in tears. I am a black bile who always loves you without full sun shine and sparkling stars anymore. I am the expression of death of a tragedy caused by words. Let me go as the dust beautifully, be only I, an eclipse of a black moon.

The Self-Body Between Dogma and Blinded Humanism

by Corpus Cantopen

Most people think unconsciously about “accepting” others as they want, and this action becomes a habit of truth and reality about acceptance. They think about what others should be in their ideal minds. When we try to express our needs, they tend to change the subject of the conversation or use the order words “you should not,” or “you should do this,” as they think but not based on others' needs. They never even question others in their communication with, “What do you need?” or “How can I help your needs?” which exacerbates our emotions, makes us feel insecure, and raises questions about the meaning of love and mutuality with others.

It has been my concern for years about the term “dogma” and how it works on the brain to stimulate any possible chemical in our blood and turn on our moods. So, my question is, what is dogma? How does dogma become the absolute meaning of life, to understand life's path, to defend the beyond minds? Or, is there any detail on how these counter-minds just became the boomerang? Rather than seeing and learning what happened behind the conditions of time, we are lost.

Through random and complex patterns from history and philosophical books, I have tried to understand how many eras changed the meaning of dogma for different situations. Basically, it is about a tragedy to undermine it as healing to rebuild. However, it was made unbearable by circumstances, and the only final conclusion was a lack of meaning and purpose following into the next era. Is it the same with humans that “a year has done with their jobs”? I choose to answer it that life beyond time is our challenge to the mind's work.

That is, thoughts exist on the spectrum of a big mechanism inside of our body. As an example, now that people wish to be alive and survive extremely well between gradations, death has become a rejected idea. Then, how to defend this condition while the dogma is to be the opposite in real life? An expression of the body based on depth psychology is an acknowledgement of the need to learn and accept how cognition is another practice in the details to restart the brain's work into kinetics. Before all this happens in the self-body, it is transferred into others as a mutual mechanism.

We say aloud that our biggest enemy is technology. How often do we see that our self-body is the basis of learning? How do we see that, basically, our body is the technology itself? These questions are the most important to me personally, to be explored, while most people prefer to believe and hate reality, then see things as concrete borders unconsciously. We tend to agree with what we like and reject what we don’t like, and these thoughts directly turn into actions for others. It is the unblocking of our minds from personal setbacks as our solution to failure to complete its practical strategies in daily life as a belief. Again, a dogma and rejecting the reality of the body that works based on experiences.

By knocking on the door of dogma in order to develop mental resilience through individual practice at present, repeating the dogmas is an opportunity to improve the ability to deal with what sense of the body works as science-based exercises to understand humans' emotions and needs. Our greatest life boomerang is the self-body at confidence and resilience, effectively dealing with the free, who are too obsessed with freedom of the self in a personal way but not with others' freedom. In the end, to me, being human is a dogma in itself. What is human? A bunch of feelings and emotions.

The importance of life is how to see and feel secure in any situation at heart, and how love is about action as a meaning in every circumstance, in every pain and tragedy of the present. Listening to others is listening to myself too. I call it “acceptance.” Body tools and techniques are simply perfect dogmas about complexity and unity, as patterns to be broken and rebuilt.

A Shattered Glass

by Okty Budiati

The day begins with heavy rain and the silence of a cup of black coffee. Yet, the sound of the violin played in solitude perfectly, in simple attitude and in action. Words turned into memory to demonstrate to me how the heart is never fluid but always intense while the mind remains in confusion. This might already have been maintained as an idea. Whatever it was, a thunder frame is ready to erupt in the present moment by seeing the impossible in order to free the valuable ones. Is there an individualist with ethics?

An individual of position and authority is well aware of the attitude proclaiming his importance. It is a man's great pleasure to be very obedient to his ambition. Meanwhile, the rumbling in the voice of a woman's heart is outrageously minor at heart, and let fly far above the clouds. The grey solid that appeared belonged to a rift of coral between the mountains and the seas, like our exclusiveness of the unnamed by his.

To attribute nothing to finding enrichment in our experiences, a different convenience and gratification, is to acknowledge an emptiness. However, aching loneliness disappears into a fundamental transformation as a cumulative process of existential. If there is a desire in order to experience the self, there is no longer freedom from substance. In materialistic minds, people tend to push each other to make a change. Someone has been dreaming of a revolution in the environment. But, does an individual desire evolution for themselves? I doubt.

Lamenting the absence of words. ... by the waiting stream patiently Despite being divided in half, The heart of longing is in sight. turned into a vase ready to break. It is flourishing in parts of nowhere. I saw the beauty in the far scene. Hope is only a great breakdown.

Something not automatically given as respect is earned is an imperative game for most people. A certain value in principles always asks for each principle to be more important. A heart, like pure reason, keeps outsiders out of specific details obtained through various means. Controlling the mind intuitively becomes the key in many mutual relationships.

It is always a matter of emotion. The story is biased and soothing. Thus, too much of a somber increase. This, another sorrow as a living future, to ensure peaceful sleep during torment.

Basically, interacting respectfully not only creates heart-listening. Everyone deserves to be heard, even if there is disagreement with views or opinions. Consider that being well-treated is something important. The one who matters the most is learning how to take action out of life knowledge radically, instead of action based on social judgements.

The evening turned into the dark of the blue. We have changed already because of the disruptions and violations that held things together. To avoid togetherness, great distance is a serious matter as we are emotionally fragile. Deep within the despair, there is a shattered glass formed by the dark tears, as if the rain would never stop, freezing another night alone.

Night waits for a phantom illuminated by the soul. On the moon's windless surface, no dust. Hopelessly to the edge of uselessness... I have taken all the sorrow of one lonely heart. As a result, all the wishers in the glistening pond Wasted beyond the grassy dunes that filled the sky. I am darkened into a teardrop and flared. Perhaps the most intimate of recreational rhythms, These mournful stars slowly dried out the pain. A flame in silken drawn shades of the voyage. Another mist blows in, forgetting about me... I do not belong to the storm clouds.

The Limbic Cellular Mechanism

by HP_r1s.5N-33o:TROzz77

I In an Actually Limitless World, My Throat is Bleeding

Another discovery is expanding my knowledge of the interplay between logic and emotions as a living being. As I processed memories in order to respond appropriately, I held the cares and needs to the rarest of emotions. How should I maintain my emotional and temporal balance? In my emotional memory related to covering and protection between my past and present and further back to the unknown past, such a limbic cellular. Am I a robot? This question turned me into an anti-machine and anti-electrical years ago.

My question was, a very long time ago, why are other people too busy labeling us instead of reading themselves and labeling themselves? This note will start all the ridiculous dogma that has been embedded since we were in the womb until we are born in the world as “is a process life represented by enlightenment or refusal of our life?” I'll stick with Peter L. Wilson, or Hakim Bey (as I prefer to call him).

I started reading Peter Lamborn Wilson or Hakim Bey's writing, one of the individualist anarchist writers, as a counterweight in aligning my body-experiential knowledge as my language of arts with my references to literacy journals I've read and kept as memorization of the brain, which often clashed with my search. Boredom literature, as I said, is indeed still imprisoned by academic literacy.

“It is frequently stated that we anarchists “believe humans are fundamentally good”” (as did the Chinese sage Mencius). [“Anarchist Religion”?—Peter L. Wilson, 2009] However, any variation of dogma that causes a question or creates a new follower must be a blinded red-flag sheep into the disbelief of “birth-exist-die” about themselves, or, in other words, how to keep capitalism surviving as an authoritarian system, totally.

How progressive our repressive consciousness has become since the complexities of the 1950s, an era of alienation! As it is now, the term “spook” is becoming a new “ism.” Again, the individual becomes materialism as the body is the dogma that the body has not yet finished exploring. What a boring idea, circling around like a guinea pig. This prompted me to reread what I had missed during my previous explorations as paths, a way of life.

This note certainly makes me re-read Max Stirner for his thoughts on “Art and Religion” in a more distant era. Where did he say that: “Religion itself is without genius. There is no religious genius, and no one would be permitted to distinguish between the talented and the untalented in religion”. [“Art and Religion”—Max Stirner, Rheinische Zeitung, 1842]

For me, Peter provides a new alternative view of seeing the past as a process of social registration in a society that will continue to change. As it has been written, “any liberatory belief system, even the most libertarian (or libertine), can be flipped 180 degrees into a rigid dogma — even anarchism (as witness the case of the late Murray Bookchin). Conversely, even within the most religious of religions the natural human desire for freedom can carve out secret spaces of resistance (as witness the Brethren of the Free Spirit, or certain dervish sects)”.

Here, he did not mention any specific religion but tended to open the gates of a new era to move on, as we understand it as the new wave of cinema without tension and regrets. C’est la vie.

-[to be continued to chapter II]

Is the Psychosomatic Phenomenon Inexorably Subject? “when I thrive over the free will perversion manifested in life to cause and caress; I confirm intuitively that it is libertine”

by Corpus Cantopen

If I could reach these minds rationally, I had to make a decision like the wind. Despite my fear of speaking out loud; Who could be emotionally wrapped? I barely considered the consequences.

By then, the moods had discharged by chance, triggering a burst of connectivity. However, these behaviors continued like a journey from one pattern to another unknown. It feels like a sharp wave, while silent, becomes measurable by the body. This exercise based on the anatomy of the body has generated personal expectations.

In transferring support of emotions indirectly, these behaviors are controlled by any consequences. The achievement in threat behavior has been affected by massive exposure to aversive situations. The emotional reactions without relief are not extinguished, but burnt at superiority. That is the so-called nature of humans. A never-ending curse with the most tragically human consequences.

An assumption provided the situation with the ability to cage each other. It's like the object in many images. It becomes tactical readiness through every intersection naturally. Meanwhile, most humans are afraid of change and then emotionally overwhelmed by qualification. Furthermore, how should I work through the mind with the brain? Would humans enjoy being motivated by a reset? I doubt.

However, inanimate substances and descent have been modified in many ways, including me as part of human anatomy, from the confusion of its genomic mutations to environmental adaptation and production as a common ancestor. I faced the most complex part of the labyrinth of the soul; what is an ancestor? Is this term needed for a correct interpretation as a new wave?

What nonsense, deception, and frivolity!

At most, it would be a radical addiction, defined as extreme behavior within the context of great suffering as a social phenomenon. I never returned this immoral fake rebel as per cultural beliefs, but to adequately satiate the desires of the flesh, this body belongs to you freely. What is built into the infamous acronym as many clamor for legitimacy? My enlightened life is cut off. Eat me!!

For all intents and purposes, when it is at its most? Tragically, vulnerable species! This is the ultimate confusion... There is no sun anywhere... I'm reaping the benefits of being absolved of responsibility for suicide; a reimagining of lost narratives

I begged to be alive and had no faith in anything within my rejected path of many indwellings. No culture but body language, anatomically. My trashed body is a terror to the spooks. I no longer care about the lands and seas. Maybe soon the destruction of the sky will be complete. Please close the curtain without any shadows. All cures were false promises and wasted, and this turned out to be the beginning of a great capital of naked pillars.

Inexplicably, while expressing distrobe, these memories are created to reproduce an intriguing causation: a living simple-cell organism is formed and linked to such a ridiculous, obsolete design in disarray. Blackout

The Presence of Solitude while embracing acceptance of being radically alone

by Corpus Cantopen

The constant noise of thoughts has taken my time away from me. Then I questioned my self-centeredness to present connection without attachment and destructively.

In solitude, I prepare myself as if to understand how to be secure and authentic freely. I sense my physical and physiological systems are unbalanced at this edge of my humanity. After all, I have already passed a way of life at social functions such as being a daughter, a mother, a trainer, a stage performer, and in some mutual romantic relationships. At this very moment, being alone with myself is my only option.

If I am able to listen to the hectic pace of my life, do I need to relearn to walk the path of silence and solitude in another step of life? Meanwhile, this condition is a fundamental skill to isolate myself from being overwhelmed by causes of connection in rare paths without direct conclusion. Metaphorically, what would I do with the rest of the life I have?

I tend to the point of knowing nothing about the meaning of life, and staring from the top of my edge, I learn that the meaning of life has no meaning. Everything comes and goes, nothing belongs, not even my body, my breath, and someone that I love for the very first time in my whole life just happened now.

I am assured I am able to share my life with his life. However, it appears to be a far cry from where I was coming from, which was full of social activities. Instead of trying to remember the experiences and the routines, I feel awkward and warful about my needs and emotions. Furthermore, they turned the moment into a catastrophe.

Sementara pagi hadir begitu gaduh pada sudut kota yang menggenggam kenangan ditinggalkan dalam kelam Aku meminta hal yang tak lagi utuh untuk berjalan dengan segala letihku yang pernah terukir di seberang ufuk bagaikan mimpi lautan badai selatan menunggu di tepi musim yang hilang Apakah dermaga enggan menitipkan rindu yang takkan mampu terbantah Semisal harapan tersapu gelombang desir pasir dalam diam tiada jawab Cahaya kembali rembang…

What could be more alone than deciding to become a self-reader at the age of maturity? How is the sense of peace released, undoubtedly? It is natural for the self to take small steps as a starting step. Thoughts and feelings flood in as a new day settles in every single minute. It just guides me to remembrance of some philosophers of humanity and the psychology of existentialism I knew both from the east and the west in my youth.

I will try to give myself the time in exercise to practice living like a new baby learning how to crawl as another spiritualism of being alone. Through the story of my mind, I am required to imagine being direct in ways of how to stay in a current circumstance. How to be sharper, more creative, and more tuned-in to what may be happening in and around me by listening to Purple Noise* in clear mind and body until all tears dry naturally.


As A Life Flows

By Corpus Cantopen

So when in tears The love of years Is wasted like the snow, And the fine fibrils of its life By the rude wrong of instant strife Are broken at a blow Within the heart [The Forest Reverie, Edgar Allan Poe]

The stories are mostly from the second half of the unknown, comprising an illustrated description of its life as the stories are probably a collection of milieus as experienced at worst. I would not say that this comes at a cost in many subtleties, but how to be resilient in survival is another question that requires no compromise.

Hope is never required for any particular choice. Instead of losing hope many times and struggling to see that your life is another doom to be fixed. Trust is a serious issue to put in another hands. The sun is just coming with a different cloud of darkness as the hope from another broken heart at the very last moment.

It’s just too crazy when my soul builds up from love and connection. A simple way showed up at life's giving, but also losing. I'm falling from a mountain that was so beautiful for unknown reasons. Until I find myself desperate and lost, not free of all the dreams I never made.

The feelings were down to a deep truth that had been written on my heart boldly for a great solitude. It is made to resonate within my soul, so unbecoming. I have lost on every point. No smile in every way but entering a cold river as my blood is to be cherished within my great loneliness now.

Now, it has totaled over passionately between the difference and the distance. I might illustrate this in a reflection of this corpus closely through a personal diary entry on my body anatomy. For any reason, no one is really willing to wait for their own death. I would be scattered into pieces if I believed it.

Communication adds another layer of complication to how human minds work; whether it's as a mutual respect stuck at a passion without comprehensiveness, we lose peace. Misery is rewarded with a kind of bizarre becoming.

O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. [The Sick Rose, William Blake]

I promised you eternity from my sorrow in the places that sow the lantern of understanding. No more hiding in the emptiest of the fields where the largest battles are fought by despair. A fool's feast staring at the apocalypse in life at the darkest sadness in all known souls over civilization.

Dream It to A Utopian Anarchist over lands in a curve of rivers and oceans

by Corpus Cantopen

I am alive as your dark soul's mirror. My chaos left over this apocalyptic carnival. But I'm moving along smoothly, like a turtle and wild weeds at the same time. You are able to freely throw me as garbage into the ocean or burn me as you burned your land in the mountains.

You are free to simply make a wish, and I will grant all of your wishes. I will satisfy your needs, even all your sutras’ desires without borders. I am your solid blackness. As a way of life, I am a minimalist concept of the human body.

Your emptiness frightens you into fasting from all material desires. Are you stuck in a situation trying to heavy lift your life? Your habits are just unhealthy and unpeacefully competing with your experiences to be calculated for a personal deposit in the bank. We talked about it at a fun party that you left all dried up!

You cut our tongue out in an effort to stop interrupting. You made it entirely work as the weird bubbling noises became us. We will never frequently request your merchandise. We do suggest other reputable companies with a wide range of experience to our playground that you will not be able to imagine.

You will find yourself facing your broken mirror now. You lose all what are-so-called the roots of archipelagos. I dreamt it as a utopian anarchist for the hell of darkness. Your alienated self's tenderness is whispering into your deepest nightmare.

the Earth plate trembles as shivers blades in every land, so many long tears flowed the clouds never spoke out louder than cried thou heart glistened over the great thunder comes the heavy rain for the disaster plague as a sham realization of your blood beliefs a metamorphic wind blows in a craving sky this is only the start of all the hell's wars a beautiful beginning against the gods

A discussion is only another burden that is not being done by others freely. At a distance, consciousness is mistakenly assumed to accomplish something significant in society, as the largest ballroom is blinded by passion in the name of morality on the edge of ethics.

The mud will take care of all your assignments to lead the needs of the service provided. There is no requirement to be highly qualified to demonstrate who is the winner and the loser. You made the puzzle grade with a very low level of intellectual and emotional intelligence. What an embarrassment to pride. You must use your expensive mask to cover your life for a better hood.

From your most hated to all the emotions you're spreading like seeds underneath of disbelief to move on in pain and sorrow. We are coming back to matching the games on another platform, meanwhile, empathizing with the needs of feelings of ease to support simplicity and safety.

Feel free to make us feel guilty about this!

An Eternal Return to Endless Reverie the sun rises as the sky at a distance gradually darkens

by Corpus Cantopen

Some hours passed, my friend and I had a short chat about the sense of suffering as a term. We did have some perspective on this. Therefore, this is what interests me: how we sense the word based on our own experiences. This might be a good question as to the mind, memory, and present. How do we accept loss and anxiety as part of suffering?

We may have many theories about this, but what are the distinctions between “suffering,” “sorrow,” and “pain”? Are there any matters offered regarding the complexity between the body and the soul in terms of suffering as words and emotions in the living? I'm tempted by a variety of memories of suffering.

Let’s read some perspectives on this condition. I would jump to the very far past. The Dukkha, which was archived as Pali scripts as the condition of human life based on Buddhism as a way of enlightenment, just reminds me of the Inferno from The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri.

“The highest wisdom, and the primal love. Before me nothing but eternal things were made, And I endure eternally. Abandon every hope, ye who enter here.”

I sense an eternal return from this paragraph above. Meanwhile, the paradoxical condition of humanity is a poetic and philosophical space in which humans, as part of the complex and unpredictable nature of humanity, transcend not only becoming but also ambiguity.

In my opinion, both emotions and somatic events happen pertaining to the interrelations of mind and body; having bodily activities so-called mental. I think this situation is more related to hormone factors and how we maintain our diets and health awareness.

Moreover, when we are in the womb, we've been manifested by external causes in the form of traumatic events before we were born. A traumatic life can be defined as a mechanical emotional life, which is how we deal with being a part of social life in different cultures.

Suffering, to me, is a way of understanding the meaning of life itself. There is no new circulation in the living, no new events in specific traditions and beliefs, but we might teach ourselves freely to sense the feelings as an acceptance process by living the life. An evolution of personal processes periodically without running away or lowering the sense of emotions is a choice to walk the paths.

The world before my eyes is wan and wasted, just like me. The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all the grass withered. No spring breeze even at this late date, Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reed hut. [My Hovel, by: Ikkyu, translated by John Stevens]

Through entering the dark realm, the labyrinth of life, it contains many things as our opportunity to consider the way and treat ourselves. It is important to portray the aspect of our nature that creates loss and anxiety at the same moment. In several different lives, we thematized the idea of transcending all emotions into moods.

A world sphere in values is a spiritual achievement, which I prefer to characterize as the energy of love. The uniqueness of a soul is alive while we tend to be aware of the present moment as our daily exercise consciously as a life beyond measure.

Time and Space the distance between considerations of the existence

by Corpus Cantopen

Is there time and space where we could share at the present time? This question is no longer relevant because we calculate numerically as part of our minds. But how do we manage to stay true to time? What is the true time for an individual in life?

for the hidden, silence appeared slowly. it's a matter of great time nonsense even if all claims are entirely clear emotions in the mysterious grounds to pass the truth with no circumstance its own emergence occurred quite naturally there are no virtues more expressive of feelings we were both drowning in the flesh generation my mind demanded the miserable burner in the tranquility of their natural souls. we were sifting through a cup of coffee how should we share the same sky? days may be removed from the most despair many of the purely opposing possibilities hopes commonly come when all is overcast of the earthly sense of rain passing

Time is only a psyche, and I had set it to run in a variety of complex directions. Like the cells, they may play a role in every ankle's development, but furthermore, to a better understanding, it looks like it is in emptiness. I had made quite a difference in terms of emptiness and nothingness. We appear to have forgotten something seemingly simple, such as solitude.

As we identify these similar roots on a regular basis throughout our lives, I allow myself to evolve toward having the same design as a way of life. I am looking and focusing efforts identified based on different activities to keep all processes more effective. I, like a shell, reproduce and recreate what time means in human life.

There is no goal but to raise sensitivity in the body. Nothing is more important than understanding the body, which means understanding that time is emptiness. The benefits are transformed without crashing into any specific events as the body experiences them. Some were saved, some were produced, some were reconnected.

I believe, in some ways, we are all shocked by a very moving living progression. We consume things outside of ourselves rather than ourselves. It is clear to me that I suggested to myself that I transport myself to various locations of individual dreams. My body as a shell in a stable satellite needs to work well as the system.

Humans as the living, in many fundamental ways as artifacts, shelters, and landscapes, process is representing architectural constructions on a wide range of scales. However, as explained, this will never provide many reasons. By way of example, being able to please others by entertaining is about to forbid skeptical inquiry into branding ourselves.

If your social life had been designed to combine into plural hybridization and was already varied, I see in most contexts an opportunity that offers me new insight. What would I need to maintain my body in the present moment but not only with material objects? I am the time.

This will never be a well asked question to answer, but to live it or be destroyed. The soul is dying fractally. Time looks similar to broken crystal. The bodies in time and space are far apart from each other through the gravitational force. The distance changed several times, hinting at the existence of stable bonds, which are like souls and atoms.

amour like the flowers in different seasons we explored the unseen earthlings' gabs the rest remains lost and undiscovered time passes in a magical way with a sense of your presence